No guts, no glory
by Enkidu07
Summary: Sick, cramping Dean for NewspaperTaxi's birthday! That actually pretty much sums it up. No spoilers. Season 2.


**Title**: No guts, no glory  
><strong>Author<strong>: Enkidu07  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: These characters do not belong to me.  
><strong>AN**: This is a special submission in celebration of Newspaper Taxi's birthday extravaganza. Please watch for other "No guts, no glory" submissions from the usual suspects in honor of her special day! Happy Birthday NT! I hope your whole week is special!

o0o

Sam growls and sinks lower in the passenger seat as the Impala's wheels hit the gravel along the roadside. He pushes his sunglasses closer to his face and tucks further into his hoodie while Dean retches into the dirt.

A headache pushes at Sam's temples and he can't help but sigh.

Dean ignores him, back tense. After a long silence, Dean pulls back inside, lolling bonelessly against the seat. Sam slides his sunglasses down and takes in Dean's complexion. Sweat beads on Dean's pale brow and fine lines around his eyes and mouth belie his malaise. Dean clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. "I'm fine."

"Fine. Yeah. Can we just get a room?"

Dean rubs the heel of his hand rhythmically over his abdomen. "I'm okay now. Better out than in, right?"

Sam watches the cherry blossoms swirl as they pick up speed again.

o0o

Dean lasts another two hours. Sam hears more than one sick swallow and is pretty sure Dean's grip on the steering wheel is unnecessarily tight, but he keeps the thought to himself.

Dean stays seated when they pull up in front of the Piccadilly Inn. He slides his gaze toward Sam and gruffs out, "You're up."

Sam shrugs and pushes out of the car. Dean yells after him, "And, hurry it up, will you?"

o0o

Dean makes a beeline for the bathroom once they enter the cool room.

Sam follows but is met with an abrupt door in his face.

"Alrighty, then," he murmurs. He raises his voice, "I'm gonna check out the town. Get some supplies. You good?"

He takes Dean's grunts as an affirmative.

o0o

The local market is fairly well stocked with drugs and natural remedies. Sam picks out some nausea pills and then grabs some peppermint tea and muscle rub.

When he gets back to the room, he's relieved to find that Dean has made an appearance and is sacked out on top of the bed.

"Any better?"

Dean's eyes shift his way, but he just blinks pathetically in lieu of an actual verbal response.

Sam unpacks his supplies, keeping his distance but assessing nonetheless. Dean's hair is slicked back and his eyes are crusty. His five o'clock shadow gives him a sallow hue and his fingers are fidgeting restlessly. His leg is still slung over the side of the bed as if he couldn't be bothered to pull it all the way up. Sam knows Dean hates it when he hovers, so he's prepared to give him time to pull it together.

"Sam."

Sam jumps at his name. "Yeah?"

"Something's wrong."

"I noticed." Sam softens at Dean's pathetic look. He moves to the edge of the bed. "What's going on?"

"Stomach's cramping. You think it's a hex?"

Sam scans Dean's face. "You think that troll in Westfield?"

Dean grimaces.

"Yeah, I don't think so either." Sam sits by Dean's hip and tentatively brings a hand up to Dean's abs. He palpates the area gently, Dean squirming under him, until Dean stills his hand. "You vomiting blood?"

Dean shakes his head, eyes glued to Sam's.

"Did you get hit in the stomach last night during the salt and burn?"

Another shake.

"Piss off any witches?"

Dean narrows his gaze but then gives another tentative shake.

Sam extricates himself from Dean's grip and slides the back of his fingers along Dean's brow. "Feels like a fever. Sorry dude. I think it's the good old-fashioned flu."

Dean huffs, pulls himself over onto his side away from Sam, rubbing his stomach unhappily. The back of his shirt is soaked through with sweat.

o0o

Sam gives up on tea the third time Dean throws it back up. Peppermint vomit is less appetizing than one would think, especially when combined with thick pink anti-diarrheal medicine.

Dean is shivering miserably on the bed, jaw set, hands clasped rigidly over his abdomen when Sam breaks out the muscle rub.

Dean starts when Sam wraps a hand around his shoulder, encouraging him to uncurl from his fetal position. "Dude, you've got puke on your shirt. Time to change."

"Dying, Sam. Gotta be a curse. Maybe that waitress was a witch. Or, remember that kid at the diner? Looked evil."

Dean grumbles on, but is relatively cooperative as Sam pulls his shirt off. Dean's skin pimples with gooseflesh and he shutters. "You want this on you?" Sam offers the warming muscle rub. "It'll warm you up. Maybe help you relax."

Dean uncurls a fist and lets Sam squeeze some of the cream into it. Sam does his best to towel off Dean's sweaty skin while Dean slathers the liniment haphazardly over his stomach. Then Sam gives himself a handful and soothes it over Dean's shoulders and chest. When Dean's skin is warm to the touch, he helps Dean pull a t-shirt over his head and eases his uncooperative limbs into a hoodie.

"Bathroom." Dean's a tangle of limbs as he makes a break for the toilet.

o0o

Sam's ragged by morning but Dean's finally resting more comfortably. Sam steps outside and takes a deep breath of uncontaminated air. They'll have to find a new hotel tonight just to get away from the smell.

Thudding inside pulls his attention back to the room.

Dean's still on the bed, blinking innocently. "Thirsty, Sam."

"You sure you're ready to keep something down? Maybe you should go back to sleep."

"Can't. Smells bad in here."

Sam passes him the Gatorade.

"Ready for a shower?"

"Mmmmm, sleep first."

Sam takes back the Gatorade and Dean relaxes back into the mattress.

When he finally makes it to the shower a few hours later, he snags the muscle rub to bring with him to the bathroom.

o0o

It's a week and a half before Dean comes home with greasy sausage and hamburger pizza. He still smells slightly of Icy Hot, though Sam hasn't seen the tube since that first night.

He eats enthusiastically, grease running down his chin as he grins at Sam.

Sam grimaces back and excuses himself to steep some of the left over tea.

Dean stills as the scent wafts his way. He stops chewing and his face contorts. "Oh. I'll, uh, yeah."

Sam hasn't even made it back to the table before Dean makes a break for the bathroom, pizza abandoned.

o0o

end.


End file.
